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ourselves.”
    Sarah wiped her tears away as they started into the church. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
    Mrs. Beabots squeezed Sarah’s arm again as they entered the nave. Lowering her voice, she said, “And get a new lipstick.”
    * * *
    O NCE INSIDE S T . M ARK ’ S , Sarah sat up front on purpose. As Mrs. Beabots had once pointed out, no one likes to sit in the front of the church. Therefore, the seat pads in the front pews were used less than those in the back, and were still firm and thick with plush foam and down. Sitting on the green, tufted cushion, Sarah had to agree with Mrs. Beabots.
    Sarah found her mind wandering during Father Michael’s sermon, and for the first time since she’d moved back to Indian Lake from Indianapolis, she realized that Father Michael’s voice did not sound as strong and as vibrant as she remembered. Cocking her head and peering at his face, she saw none of the passion radiating from his eyes that he’d once had.
    He coughed several times during his delivery and faltered with his words. Then it hit her. He was sick. She truly hoped it wasn’t anything serious.
    Father Michael was saying something about not being afraid. Reflecting on her personal life, she realized with a shock that she was deeply afraid. She had no job, at least for the moment, and the idea of her life without her work was absolutely unacceptable. She didn’t know how to be on vacation, as Mrs. Beabots put it.
    I can’t vacate my life!
    Her job as her mother’s caregiver was over, and that meant there was no need to rush home at night after work. There was no one else to cook for or clean up after. There was only her laundry to do and a few dishes to wash. The garden still needed tending, but other than Beauregard, there was nothing that needed her.
    And no one.
    I have no husband. Not even a boyfriend. No children. There’s no one to need me, want me or love me.
    She looked down at her folded hands and realized they were shaking. Perhaps Mrs. Beabots was right after all, as she usually was. Sarah was careworn.
    Dwelling on her problems caused her to slip into deeper despondency. Sarah had always prided herself on her cheery, happy nature. She’d never been depressed that she could remember. Not even after her breakup with James. Yet here she was, feeling unnaturally sorry for herself.
    With her mind wandering, Sarah looked around at her old church, which had been built just after the First World War. It was odd how the windows didn’t let in the same sunlight they had when she was a child. The floors and carpets were dull and worn. The plaster on the ceiling was chipped and cracked. The paint on the walls was a murky brown that did little to uplift anyone’s spirits. She couldn’t help but wonder when or how it had fallen into such disrepair. If the plaster was cracked, what condition was the roof in? Did the brick need tuck-pointing? Her architecturally oriented mind went to work.
    As the sermon ended, Sarah noticed how few people were in attendance. She especially noticed the fact that most of the congregation was nearing old age, and there were fewer than two dozen children present.
    Sarah wasn’t sure if the summer season had brought on this decline in patronage, or if she just hadn’t been paying attention all these weeks and months while her mind had been focused on her mother. She guessed the latter.
    Sarah flipped her bulletin over and read the back for announcements. She noticed that the Indian Lake Hospital was sponsoring a free bereavement group on Wednesday nights. The sessions were to last six weeks and were being held in a meeting room at the Indian Lake Public Library. As if a trigger had gone off in her head, Sarah realized the time had come for her to seek professional help. She would go to the counseling sessions and maybe she would find her answers.
    In the meantime, she didn’t think she could face her empty house all evening. As she and Mrs. Beabots walked out of the church,